


A Light from the Shadows

by AsMyWimseyTakesMe



Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Game), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Beregond is awesome, Bittersweet, Gen, Halbarad is awesome, Talion deserves a gentle ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsMyWimseyTakesMe/pseuds/AsMyWimseyTakesMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had seen it, before he was exiled to the Black Gate. Gondor had been crumbling, slowly, under the weight of history and loss and corruption. The return of the King had been a symbol of hope, a pretty tale to cheer the populace. There were none of the bloodline left.</p><p>And yet there was the King’s banner in the middle of the battle at the Black Gate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Talion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years of his life he had spent on the crest of that bulwark, he and his doing their duty to protect Gondor, the forgotten watchmen on the edge of Mordor itself. It was where his son was born, where he gained the rank of captain, and where his family had been murdered—where his life had changed forever during the Black Hand’s dark magic ritual. And now, it was gone, as if nothing of steel and stone had ever stood there.

Talion stared down at the chasm that marked the resting place of the Black Gate. Years of his life he had spent on the crest of that bulwark, he and his doing their duty to protect Gondor, the forgotten watchmen on the edge of Mordor itself. It was where his son was born, where he gained the rank of captain, and where his family had been murdered—where his life had changed forever during the Black Hand’s dark magic ritual. And now, it was gone, as if nothing of steel and stone had ever stood there.

Weeks after the cataclysmic event, the mountains were still shaking and pieces of Mordor were vanishing. Even now, he felt tremors under his boots. They mirrored the tremors in his soul. It was done. A pair of Hobbits had done the impossible, and Sauron was gone forever. Even Celebrimbor was silent as he gazed down at the destruction.

Of course, that never lasted. Talion had learned over the last few decades that Celebrimbor could be damn chatty, for an ancient Elven Lord.

As if he had heard Talion’s thoughts—likely, considering they shared a body—Celebrimbor appeared beside Talion, the wraith barely visible in the weak, dust-choked sunlight.

“Our task is finally over, Talion.” 

Talion heaved a sigh. “Yes, it is.”

“We must decide our course. Sauron is dead. The Orcs and Uruks are scattered, easy prey for the Men of Gondor and Rohan. No slaves remain within Mordor.” Talion could feel the wraith’s eyes on him. “It is time, I think, to rejoin our families.”

“Can you, now that the Ring is gone?”

“Yes. With the Ring gone, I believe I may finally return to the Halls of Mandos.”

Talion glanced at Celebrimbor. There was a look of peace on the wraith’s face, one Talion had never seen in the many years they had been partners. The Ranger nodded his agreement, but his gaze was drawn to the horizon. The Elf followed his eyes and placed a ghostly hand on Talion’s shoulder.

“You are not yet ready.”

“No, I am! I wish to see Dirhael, and my Ioreth. I simply…” Talion trailed off, then sighed. “The fight at the gates, before the eruption of Mount Doom. When we stood on this peak and assisted where we could with arrow upon arrow, I saw the banners. The black one—that was the banner of the _King_. It was thought impossible, but…” Talion halted, but Celebrimbor fixed him with knowing eyes and the Man continued. “He is—there is a _King_ , and—I want to see him. I wish to lay eyes on my King, just once, before we pass beyond this world.”

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the faint sounds of Mount Doom as it continued to pour molten stone into the wreckage of Mordor. Talion’s thoughts were jumbled, his chest tight with strange emotions. Decades they had fought to bring about Sauron’s end, years of nothing but death and destruction. He had begun the fight for his family, but he had continued for Gondor. He had seen the decay brought by the Dark Lord’s forces, and he refused to think of Minas Tirith bowing beneath such darkness. But even so, he had had little hope for the survival of his city, his countrymen. He had seen it, before he was exiled to the Black Gate. Gondor had been crumbling, slowly, under the weight of history and loss and corruption. The return of the King had been a symbol of hope, a pretty tale to cheer the populace. There were none of the bloodline left. 

And yet there was the King’s banner in the middle of the battle at the Black Gate.

“Very well, my friend.” Celebrimbor said gently. Talion felt his shoulders hunch. He had never known how to respond to gentleness; Ioreth had been the first to treat him with such, and after the Black Gate… Celebrimbor continued, ignoring Talion’s discomfort.

“We shall make our way toward Minas Tirith, and once you have witnessed your king, we shall find a quiet place for our eternal rest.”

Talion nodded sharply, unable to speak through his tightening throat. Honestly, he felt this was ridiculous, a foolish whim.

But the King had returned. _His King_ had returned, and Talion would not go to his friends and family without having seen this centuries-old promise come to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we know that Shadow of Mordor is, technically, not part of canon, but I have so much headcanon. SO MUCH HEADCANON.
> 
> Also, Talion deserves a gentle, if bittersweet, finale to his life, after everything that's happened. So I decided to give him one.
> 
> There will be three chapters. The first two are written completely, though chapter 2 is currently being betaed/edited, and chapter 3 is in the process of being written.
> 
> The title is from "Strider's Riddle" as found in The Fellowship of the Ring.
> 
> Betaed by [SvengoolieCat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SvengoolieCat), who is awesome and reads my fic even though she doesn't play video games. :)


	2. Halbarad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a Man, but not a Man.

After the desolation of Osgiliath and the Pelennor Fields, the quiet green woods of Ithilien were a welcome relief. Halbarad relaxed next to a small fire, a whetstone and small dagger in hand. Around him, a mixed patrol of Gondorian and Dunedain rangers checked equipment and quietly ate their simple rations. This particular patrol was searching for stragglers, Orcs or Men, from Sauron’s armies. Aragorn—the King, Halbarad reminded himself—had patrols out every few days since the destruction of the Eye.

Honestly, Halbarad doubted it was necessary. Any remaining Orcs or evil Men had likely fled as far from Minas Tirith as possible. Still, preparation and prevention were often key to survival, as the Dunedain knew from experience, and the mixed patrols increased the levels of trust between the newcomers and the Gondorians. Of course, trust could be slow to come to the Men of Gondor, who had long been isolated from much of Middle-earth due to the politics and preferences of the Steward and nobles. Still, Halbarad noted with an inward snort, the Gondorian rangers were more likely to trust the Dunedain due to the influence of their former captain, Faramir, and they certainly trusted other men more than they did Elves. The Gondorians flinched and shifted carefully out of the way as a shadowy figure detached from the surrounding trees and made its way to Halbarad. The Dunedain did not bother to even look; they had dealt with many long years of such stealthy appearances from the Peredhel twins.

“Left your brother on watch alone, Elladan? Did his jokes scare you off, or was your stomach growling too loudly for him to concentrate?” Neither brother had eaten, to Halbarad’s knowledge, and Elladan’s body was notorious for reminding everyone of its hunger when denied food. Elrohir thought it was hilarious, and often teased his older twin over this very human trait. The Elf scoffed lightly at the barb, and crouched close beside Halbarad, his grey eyes glittering in the firelight. The ranger frowned to see Elladan had his bow in hand, rather than on his back.

“What is wrong?”

“We have a visitor.” Elladan told him bluntly. “I left Elrohir to watch him.”

Halbarad paused, then slid his dagger into its sheath and got to his feet. “What kind of visitor?”

“You must see for yourself, I think.” Elladan said cryptically.

 

***

 

It was a Man, but not a Man.

Halbarad examined the darkened figure beside the moon-silvered Elrohir. The Man was shorter than Halbarad, with a deep hood over his hair and scruff on his face. As they approached, the stranger moved, and moonlight glanced off his skin. Originally, the ranger thought, his skin would have been a healthy nut-brown, but there was a strange gray cast to it, as if… well, as if the stranger had somehow gained the waxy paleness of a corpse. Their eyes met, and Halbarad fought to keep his habitual stony expression, as the Man’s eyes glowed.

“I greet you in the name of the King, stranger.” Halbarad stopped in front of the Man. It would hurt nothing to be polite, at least, even if his instincts were whispering caution. “I am Halbarad of the Dunedain, captain of this patrol. My comrades are Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond.”

The glow in the stranger’s eyes intensified for a brief moment, a flash that Halbarad almost thought he imagined. Elladan moved quietly to flank the stranger, opposite his brother.

“Who are you, stranger?” Halbarad stood where he was, fixing his eyes on the Man’s face. “What is your business in Ithilien?”

“I am merely a traveler, on my way to Minas Tirith.” The Man’s voice was low and rough, with the accent of Minas Tirith itself.

“On your way home, then?”

“The White City has not been my home for many long years. I simply seek to visit her once more.”

Elrohir tapped his bow against his knee and exchanged a glance with his brother. Halbarad held the stranger’s gaze.

“How many years have you been away from Minas Tirith?”

“I’m afraid I do not remember, the years tend to…blend into one another.”

“Yet your voice remembers her. As does your clothing.” Halbarad deliberately moved his gaze down to the Man’s chest, where moonlight revealed the tree and stars of Gondor on a much-repaired leather cuirass. The Man lifted his chin as Halbarad met his eyes again.

“Tell me, stranger. You say it has been many years, yet you have the look of a man in middle age. You speak with the accent of Minas Tirith and you wear the sign of the Rangers, yet you say you have not been there in many years, when every true Man of Gondor should have ridden to the aid of the White City during the siege and the ride on the Black Gates. You travel alone, across lands that are likely crawling with displaced Orcs and evil Men, without fear, it seems.” Halbarad watched the Man’s face and a pale shimmer ran over it.

Elladan hissed and stalked forward even as Elrohir knocked an arrow to his bow. The stranger tensed, and with a movement so sudden Halbarad could not see it, he was six feet away and watching the Elves warily. Both Peredhel had stopped in surprise, but Halbarad nodded grimly.

“And you are host to a wraith.”

The Man frowned and straightened. “You are a Man yourself, yet you claim to see a wraith in me?”

“I am of the Dunedain, of Numenorean blood, and I faced the Eye of Sauron at the side of my King when he took up the Palantir and laughed in the face of evil.” Halbarad gripped the hilt of his sword tight, but did not draw it. “I see much, Man once of Minas Tirith, and I would do much to keep my King from harm. Tell me now, stranger, and tell me truth; who are you, and what is your business with the White City?”

There was silence; even the sounds of insects had stopped, and the wind died. The world seemed to hold its breath, as the Man regarded Halbarad, and then the twins, with a considering look.

Then his head and shoulders bowed slightly, and he closed his eyes. Sound seemed to rush in, even as the Man pulled back his hood and shrugged his heavy, ragged cloak aside. True enough, he wore the much-repaired remains of a Gondorian Ranger’s uniform, in black and a very deep brown. Halbarad registered the color with confusion—none of the Rangers wore such deep colors, not when they spent most of their time in the woods—and the Man stepped forward to incline his head in a polite genuflection.

“I am Talion.” He said quietly. He had a pleasant, sober countenance, and none of the features that marked Gondorian nobility, who had intermarried so often that they had a specific look to them. “I am, or I was, Captain of the Rangers that guarded the Black Gate." 

Halbarad sucked a breath between his teeth. That would explain the uniform and the accent. “You were the only survivor?”

“Well, in a way, I suppose I was.” Talion gave a mirthless chuckle. Another shimmer ran across his skin, and Elladan stepped forward. Talion tensed, but Elrond’s eldest held up a hand.

“Peace, ranger.” Elladan held his bow by his side; Halbarad could see that he had unstrung it as a sign of good faith, though the Dunedain knew very well that the Elf was just as lethal with an unstrung bow. “I too see the wraith in you, but I can also see that it is…different than those we have encountered. May we speak to him?”

Talion blinked and his attention seemed to turn inward, and then he laughed slightly. “I think so, master Elf. He actually seems quite interested.”

“Oh?”

Talion’s eyes glowed bright, and his form seemed to waver like mist. Faint silver scars rippled over his face, and suddenly Talion was overlaid with the ghostly image of an Elf in ancient armor. Halbarad did not recognize him, but the twins both stiffened. Elladan seemed to hesitate, then he bowed respectfully. Elrohir echoed him.

“Greetings to you, Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion.” Elladan said formally. “I greet you on behalf of my father, Elrond of Rivendell, and my family.”

Halbarad’s legendary composure cracked; he could feel his jaw drop with the revelation that a Gondorian Ranger was possessed by the Elven Lord who forged the three Elven Rings of Power. Said Elven Lord watched the three in front of him with shrewd eyes, then smirked. 

“Such pretty manners. Your grandfather’s influence, no doubt. Galadriel would have had words if a wraith of a family member just appeared out of nowhere,” he said candidly. The twins jerked upright and opened their mouths as if to object, but Celebrimbor waved a hand.

“Don’t bother. You forget that Galadriel is my cousin, though distant.” The shade looked into the distance for a moment with a fond, wry smile that pulled at his shadowy scars. “We used to have such rows, she and I,” he mused. “The worst was when Annatar came to Eregion, for she trusted him even less than I.”

“Annatar?” Halbarad asked, and found himself pinned by a pair of ghostly eyes. He swallowed—this was no worse than dealing with the Paths of the Dead, he told himself—and continued. “Wasn’t that—“

“The name Sauron used to gain entry into my kingdom and access to my forges?” Celebrimbor nodded grimly. “Yes.”

“But why are you here?” Elrohir’s question seemed to burst out of him. “He murdered you, killed your family! You should be in the Halls!”

“Hmm, well that, young kinsman, is a very long story. And it is also why we are here.”

Celebrimbor’s image shuddered and retreated, and when it was gone, Talion took a deep breath of the night air and rolled his shoulders. He lifted his head and met Halbarad’s gaze.

“Our story is _not_ why we are here.” Talion said firmly. “I simply wished to visit the White City, before—I just wished to see it again.”

“Well, considering who you carry and who you were, I do not believe you would be a danger to any in Gondor.” Halbarad said slowly, watching as the other Man seemed to relax. “But I think that there is a purpose to your trip that is rooted in your story, whatever you might think. Come, Captain of Gondor.” Halbarad finally took his hand off his sword, and sat on the ground. All around them, insects sang and the moon peered through the night’s shadows. Halbarad nodded to the space in front of him. “Sit with me, and tell me why you are yet alive, and why I should allow you to continue to Minas Tirith.”

Talion hesitated, but after a moment, he moved forward and sat on the grass not two feet from Halbarad. Elladan and Elrohir, both still a little pale, melted into the surrounding trees; Halbarad had no doubt that they were listening. The Dunedain crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees.

“You do not need to tell me _everything_ ,” he assured the other Ranger. “But tell me what you can.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **About Halbarad:** Yes, I know that Halbarad reportedly fell during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields while carrying Aragorn’s standard, but he’s awesome and a steady support for Aragorn and I refuse to believe he’s dead. I mean, come on, not only is he Aragorn’s second in command and the leader of the Grey Company, he was the only other person in the room when Aragorn confronted Sauron through the Palantir, where he (Halbarad) was likely tempted by Sauron (because Sauron). So, I’m changing that bit of canon, which I can do, because it’s fanfic, and because I’m already mixing things up with the inclusion of Talion and stuff from the game.
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [SvengoolieCat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SvengoolieCat). Any remaining mistakes are the author's own fault. :)
> 
> If you're wondering, "peredhel" means something like "half-elven" and is used as a kind of family name by Elrond and his children, particularly his sons Elladan and Elrohir. It distinguishes them as having the blood of both Men and Elves, Elrond being a descendant of Man/Elf pairings on both sides of his family tree: Tuor and Idril on one side, and Beren and Luthien on the other. Fun fact: it's the reason Arwen can choose a mortal life. Being of both Man and Elven stock, the Peredhel can choose an Elven life or a mortal one. Elrond's own twin, Elros, chose a mortal life and was the very first King of Numenor (one of the big reasons why Elrond was and is a main ally of Gondor and, later, the Dunedain Rangers). We know Arwen chose a mortal life to be with Aragorn, but no one knows (and it is not stated within the books, as far as I know) which choice was taken by Elrond's twins Elladan and Elrohir.
> 
> And yes, Celebrimbor and Galadriel (and by extension, Elrond, the twins, Arwen, etc.) are related, though distantly.


	3. Beregond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Allow me to be the first to welcome you home to the White City.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but my planned three chapters turned into four chapters. As I was writing Aragorn's chapter, I realized that going right from Halbarad in Ithilien to Aragorn at the White Tree was rather...abrupt. So I'm giving a bit of background, a bit of a gentle segue into the final chapter where Talion is welcomed home by one of his own, and it's flowing much better.
> 
> Also, I thought "what did the people of Minas Tirith think of the Black Gate's garrison?" and this happened.
> 
> Now, for those who don't know, Beregond is an actual character from the books, an officer/captain in the White Company (the fancy guards you see in the movie that guard the White Tree and the main citadel). He and his son became good friends with Pippin. He was actually in charge of Pippin when the Hobbit joined the ranks of the Guard. He was a good friend of Faramir, and it's thanks to him that Pippin and Gandalf were able to save Faramir's life. When Pippin discovered Denethor's plans to kill himself and Faramir, Pippin went to Beregond first. While Pippin searched for Gandalf, Beregond went to the crypts, and fought to keep Faramir safe until Pippin returned with Gandalf. Unfortunately, this meant he killed a Man--one of Denethor's soldiers--on hallowed ground, which is a heavy offense. After Aragorn was crowned, Beregond presented himself for judgment. Aragorn, being a smart cookie, exiled Beregond from Minas Tirith, but put him in charge of Faramir's forces/Guard in Ithilien. So, Beregond can't go back to Minas Tirith once he leaves, but he got a promotion and he gets to protect his favorite Steward, Faramir. 
> 
> Suffice to say, he's awesome.

The winds of early spring cut deep on the walls of Minas Tirith. Beregond pulled his heavy cloak tight around his shoulders and took a deep breath. Months after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, those in the city would say no scent lingered, but they would be lying. Even now, he could detect the remnants of fire, blood, and decayed flesh on the gusting breeze. The Mumakil, in particular, had left a pervasive odor as their flesh began to corrupt in the weak sunlight, before their corpses had been removed from the battlefield.

Still, the advent of spring brought that sharp bright wind, that scouring breeze that whistled through the white stones of the city and snapped the pennants on poles and spears. It brought green growth; the fields before Minas Tirith stretched out toward Osgiliath like a patchwork quilt of green and brown. More brown than green, Beregond admitted silently, but it would take months, if not years, for the taint of Orc blood to be cleansed from the land. Even now the people of Minas Tirith toiled to restore the city to its former glory, alongside Men from Rohan, Elves that had arrived with the Lady Arwen and her family, and even a few Dwarrow, come on behalf of Lord Gimli. It had been somewhat of a surprise to discover that the Dwarf was actually of the line of Durin and in line for the throne of Erebor. One would think him a commoner, to hear him cursing in the forges as he created the White City’s new gates.

Beregond pressed a hand to the crenellation in front of him. Like much of the City, it had a grey cast, a grimy film that transferred to his gloved fingers. Smoke still tinged the entirety of Minas Tirith’s crumbling walls and towers, and yet, Beregond had to admit, the White City was brighter now than it had been in years. The people were smiling. Children played with wooden swords in the streets, their voices echoing off the walls. Old women hummed as they went about their chores, and the soldiers laughed with each other as they walked their patrols.

If not for the arrival of the King, how long until Gondor realized their country had been collapsing from within? Apathy, paranoia, and greed had ruined many a good man’s life, and was nearly the ruining of Minas Tirith.

_But there is a chance to make amends, at least to one man._ He reminded himself. _A chance to honor a hero of Gondor who fought even when Gondor was not worth his loyalty._  

That last thought would almost feel like treason, had Aragorn not uttered similar words himself.

 

*****

 

_“Beregond.”_

_“My King!” Beregond moved to stand from his chair, but Aragorn waved him back down. He obeyed, and watched as his King—without his crown and followed by his soon-to-be Queen—closed the door of Beregond’s office behind them. The Lady Arwen settled herself in one of the chairs before his desk, but Aragorn remained standing. He had several pieces of parchment folded in his hand and tapped them absently against his thigh._

_After a few moments of silence—during which Lady Arwen sent the King increasingly exasperated looks—Aragorn asked, “How are your preparations coming along?”_

_Beregond blinked in confusion, for this was information obtainable via courier and report, not the in-person interview required for_ sensitive _topics, but he answered readily._

_“Very well, Your Majesty. Lord Faramir has informed me of his needs, and a plan has been drawn out to expand the Guard once the residence in Ithilien begins to grow. We have also been in contact with our compatriots in Rohan about the Lady Eowyn’s personal guard and her preferences, as she has indicated an interest in visiting Ithilien.”_

_Aragorn smirked and Beregond rolled his eyes. Arwen kept a calm expression as she reached out and smacked her hand into Aragorn’s stomach. He doubled-over; the Lady was obviously stronger than she looked. She gave Beregond a serene smile._

_“Do continue, Captain.”_

_“Provisions, edible and otherwise, have been sorted. Lord Faramir continues to work on the plans for Ithilien’s architecture. There is, however, little more we can do until the Rangers return. Lord Faramir requested that Lord Halbarad examine a few possible building sites during their patrol.”_

_“Yes, Halbarad.” Aragorn finally sat in the chair beside his betrothed. Beregond raised an eyebrow. It appeared they were coming to the heart of why his King and Queen were in his office._

_“Halbarad will not return for some weeks, as was expected. However, this morning we received a messenger, who carried a letter from him.” Aragorn held up the parchment in his hand. “It held some…interesting news. Tell me, Beregond, what did you know of the Rangers stationed at the Black Gate?”_

_Beregond sat back in his chair in surprise at the sudden change in subject. “Not much, my King. The garrison fell to Sauron’s forces when I was a still a babe in arms. But…”_

_“But?”_

_Beregond shrugged. “Gossips are everywhere, and soldiers are the worst when it comes to tales, as I’m sure you know,” he told Aragorn, who smiled and nodded. Beregond continued. “When I began my training, before I was chosen for the White Company, we were taught by soldiers and Rangers alike. I remember once informing an old Ranger, a man who had been training others longer than I had been alive, that he was the most talented soldier in the kingdom. None could best him; even Lord Boromir tried, and failed. The Ranger laughed and told me that he had been bested before, and by one of his own students, no less. I was shocked, of course, no one had heard anything about it, but when I asked, he sobered very quickly, and told me that the student in question had been exiled to the Black Gate garrison, and died there when they were overrun.”_

_Aragorn and Arwen exchanged a glance, and then Arwen leaned forward._

_“Was that the only time you heard of the garrison?”_

_Beregond frowned. He thought back to the stories, the songs, the whispers in the dark as recruits and old soldiers sat at dinner tables and around fires._

_“…no.” He said slowly. “No, it was spoken of, but rarely. I never truly understood why the old soldiers were so silent on the matter of the Black Gate’s garrison, not when I was a recruit.”_

_“But?”_

_“But then I joined the White Company. We spent most of our time around the nobles, and they are worse gossips than we were. Yet no mention of the Black Gate or its garrison, not even when I was informed that one of our number had been sent there after a noble complained, despite the fact that he wasn’t a Ranger. It was meant to be a warning to me as a new Guard, even though the Black Gate’s garrison had long been lost.”_

_“What did the noble complain of? Did anyone know?”_

_Beregond shrugged. “According to the reports at the time, some assumed he was interested in the lord’s daughter, but there were no hints. The Steward shut down the questions from the captain at the time with the response of_ politics _.”_

_“Of course he did,” Aragorn groaned under his breath._

_“…you did not leave it there, did you?” Arwen asked shrewdly. Beregond flushed as both King and Queen fixed him with curious eyes._

_“Well, no. I—well, this is a touch embarrassing,” Beregond admitted, “but when I was a young recruit, even into my first year with the Citadel Guard, I wished I could have had the talents to be a Ranger. They were heroes to me, and the garrison at the Black Gate especially. To be on the cusp of Mordor, guarding Gondor and looking Orcs in the face nearly every day—I idolized them. So I asked questions. And I learned that questions were not appreciated, particularly when the nobles could overhear.”_

_Aragorn and Arwen were listening hard, their eyes intent. Beregond was a steady man, but even Halbarad was known to squirm under the gaze of his King. His skin broke out in goosebumps._

_“That old trainer finally pulled me aside. ‘Son,’ he said, ‘watch, listen, learn, but be quiet as a mouse. The Rangers on the Black Gate are heroes to all but the nobility, for many of the nobles were the ones to decide which Rangers were to be stationed there. To them, far away and dangerous as it was, the garrison became punishment to those who_ wronged _them in some fashion. They will not appreciate someone prying into what they consider their personal business, and long-buried history at that.’ And then he told me the story of that student, the one to best him. ‘The lad was strong and smart, one of the best to ever come through training,’ he said. ‘He met a young noblewoman, one of the few untouched by greed and vanity, and they courted for several months without her father’s knowledge. One day, he came upon his love in an alley on the Citadel. She was being assaulted against her will by a nobleman of the City, one of her father’s compatriots. In her defense, my student killed the noble.’”_

_Aragorn nodded to himself, a faraway look in his eyes, but Beregond’s attention was caught by the Lady Arwen’s vicious little smile._

_“And so he was punished,” Aragorn said softly._

_“My teacher informed me that the noble’s family called for his head, but something happened and both student and noblewoman were whisked away. Gossip trickled down through the servants, until it came to the guardhouse. There had been a hushed marriage ceremony, because according to a young maid’s account of a fight between father and daughter, their courting had progressed to the point where the young lady was pregnant.” Beregond gave them a wry grin. “Blood ties are important to the nobles, as is saving face. So said noble got them married, and bundled them off to the Black Gate. Out of sight, out of mind.”_

_“Do you know what happened to the couple afterwards?”_

_Beregond tapped his fingers on his desk. He was curious now. Why all the interest in old tales?_

_“From what little I know, the recruit rose through the ranks and was the Captain of the garrison at the time they were massacred. He would have had his family there as well; few who were exiled to the Black Gate ever returned.” He frowned, wracking his memory. “I read the list of the dead written according to who was stationed on the Black Gate at the time,” Beregond shook his head, “but I am not certain the story was true, my King. The old man’s memory was fading by the time he gave me the tale, and surely even the nobles would not send children to the Black Gate.”_

_“His wife,” Arwen’s voice was clear and bell-like, “was Ioreth. His son was Dirhael. And the Captain of the Black Gate was called Talion.”_

_“The story… it was true?” Beregond stared at them both, at their wise eyes and somber expressions. “How do you know this? I could find only the list of the dead, and even_ that _had simple names, no rank, relation, or description.”_

_“Because heroes can appear when we least expect them, even when they are thought dead.” Aragorn smiled, and Beregond had to match it, because he knew they were both thinking of small, furry-footed Hobbits. His King continued. “And these heroes fight even when their kin and country do not deserve their love and loyalty.”_

_“My King?”_

_“Read this, Beregond.” Aragorn handed him the sheaf of parchment. Beregond looked at the first page, and recognized Halbarad’s handwriting. “Read it thoroughly, and then I have a task for you.”_

*****

 

“Captain! Riders approach!” 

Beregond blinked away the memory of that strange meeting and cast his gaze over the Pelennor. Three horses approached, a pair of Elven steeds flanking a sturdy mountain pony. The Rangers preferred the ponies to horses; they were tough, strong, and unlikely to balk at Orcs and blood. Returning the young watchman’s salute and thanking him, Beregond made his way down the battlements toward the gate. By the time he reached the courtyard, the riders were clattering through the empty gate. He lifted a hand for their attention. 

“My lords!” 

They trotted over to him and dismounted. Beregond bowed to the two Elves first. 

“Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir, it is good to see you well.” 

“And you, Captain.” One of them replied; Beregond could never tell them apart. 

“Are you to be our escort, then?” The other asked. 

Beregond nodded assent, his attention caught by the cloaked figure hovering behind the sons of Elrond. The Man’s face was shadowed, but he looked around himself in starts and stutters, clasping his hands tight before him. Beregond moved forward, and the Man’s eyes snapped toward him. 

“Captain Talion,” Beregond murmured, and smiled as the other Man’s eyes widened, “allow me to be the first to welcome you home to the White City.” With a snap of his heels and a fist to his chest, Beregond gave formal salute, hidden from onlookers by the broad shoulders of Elrohir and Elladan. 

After a sharp breath and a long moment of quiet, Talion’s hand came to his chest in response. 

“I—I thank you, Captain.” 

Beregond’s smile widened. He turned, waving a hand before him to the path that led to the Citadel and the White Tree. 

“Come, my lords, Captain. The King awaits.”

The Elves began to walk up the sloped road, chatting quietly to each other, but Talion hung back. Beregond watched him from the corner of his eye.

“Is something wrong, Captain?” 

“I did not—that is, I thought—” Talion lifted a hand and rubbed it over the scruff on his face. “Captain Beregond, I thought only to see the King, from a distance, to satisfy my… I suppose you could call it curiosity.” 

Talion said curiosity, but Beregond could see the yearning in his eyes. It was a familiar sight. Every citizen of Gondor had that same look of longing, of hope, when rumors spread that the King had returned. That sense of “is it real?” followed the people even now, when their King was newly crowned. Beregond reached out and grasped Talion’s shoulder; the other Man was practically vibrating with tension. 

“He is waiting for you, Talion of Gondor.” He whispered. “Come, and see for your own eyes. The King has returned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I adore the really obscure book characters? Because I do. :)
> 
> And the image of a Captain of Minas Tirith/a Man of Gondor welcoming Talion home makes me go all squishy inside.
> 
> ~~This chapter is in the process of being betaed, so it may be edited in the near future. I just couldn't wait for my beta to finish, I was too excited.~~ :)
> 
> Chapter is betaed and edited! I had to put a little more on the end, it seems to flow a bit better. :)


	4. Aragorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Rest, Captain of the Black Gate. Your long watch is over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter of the four, and also the most difficult to write.
> 
> Please enjoy.

At the top of Minas Tirith, surrounded by cold white stone, a single tree glowed pale in the weak spring sunlight. Most vegetation had yet to bloom, so close to the end of winter, especially with the filth and corruption brought by the miasma that had covered Sauron’s army as they marched. Yet this tree fairly burst with blossoms, small white flowers with a touch of pink around their stems like a blush. Every time the wind shook its branches, the tree lost flowers, and the flowers lost petals, yet the tree never appeared to shrink and no bare patches could be seen.

Aragorn smiled as the wind shifted and loose petals swirled around his feet. A small bloom landed on his shoulder. There was a laugh at his side, and Arwen—radiant in the City’s colors of black and silver, a slim coronet on her brow—plucked the flower up and deftly tucked it into his hair.

“You look lovely,” she cooed, and he scoffed, but touched the petals with light fingers. Beauty and life was returning to his City, and he was glad of it. Even if Arwen took mischievous pleasure in sending him to court with flower crowns. 

Several lords had not been amused. They were also lords Aragorn had managed to remove from his council when he realized the depths of their greed and manipulative natures. 

The rest of the court found the flower crowns charming, especially the ladies, who were slowly warming up to Arwen. 

“I hear footsteps.” Elrond murmured from his seat on a nearby bench. Celeborn shifted beside him, but Aragorn’s attention was caught by Galadriel, who stood sentinel beside the White Tree. His amusement dimmed at the solemn looks on the Elves’ faces, as he remembered why they had gathered. Arwen’s hand slipped into his and squeezed. 

“Beregond made good time,” she murmured, when the door opened, and instead of a quartet of Elves and Men, a pair of Hobbits tumbled through. Aragorn blinked. Two more Hobbits appeared, flanked by a Dwarf and a blond Elf, and looming behind them with an innocent look was a white-bearded, meddling old Wizard. Aragorn shook his head and stepped forward. 

“My friends, I am glad to see you, but we are about to begin a delicate meeting—” 

“That is why we’re here,” Frodo said firmly. He had a hand tucked in Sam’s elbow, and Sam had a carved walking stick, but neither were completely recovered after their horrific trek to Mount Doom and they moved with slow, deliberate steps. Gimli, Merry, and Pippin were hovering, while Legolas at least attempted to pretend he was not watching their every step, in case they wobbled or tripped. 

Aragorn sighed. “Gandalf told you about this meeting and who will be here, I assume.” He slid a sideways glance at the Wizard, who had perched on the nearby wall and was puffing at his pipe. Gandalf ignored him. 

“Oh yes. I pulled it out of him, eventually.” Frodo said, his voice cheerful. He and Sam finally made it to an empty bench beside Galadriel. Before anyone else could move, the Lady of Lothlorien bent and gently assisted each of them onto the bench. Sam spoke little since the Hobbits returned from Mordor, but he gave Galadriel a thankful smile, then began to fuss over Frodo’s coat. Merry and Pippin claimed the bench beside Sam, and Legolas slipped right by Gimli to take the last empty seat next to Frodo. The Dwarf huffed and stomped over to the wall beside Gandalf, taking his own pipe from a pocket. 

Arwen patted Aragorn’s shoulder and he rubbed a hand over his beard, then asked, “Why are you so intent on being here? I had thought to keep the meeting small and quiet, so as not to overwhelm Talion, or the wraith he carries. Also, my friends, you have had trying experiences with wraiths—”

“Well now, that’s true enough, Strider.” Sam’s voice was hoarse, and Aragorn’s mouth shut with a click of teeth at the sound. “But the Lady Arwen showed us your Ranger’s report when we asked, and, beggin’ your pardon, I think we ought to meet the Man who watched over us when we were in Mordor.” 

“I did little enough to aid you. You still were captured and harmed by Orcs and Uruks. But I am glad you survived.” 

Aragorn felt his neck crack as the soft voice reached his ears and his head whipped around. Elrohir and Elladan stood guard on either side of the main door, with Beregond between them. A pace in front of them stood a stranger. The Man was stocky, with brown hair and a grey cast to his tanned skin. His clothing was ragged and much-mended, but the tree and stars of Gondor flashed bright on his chest, and his eyes were fixed on Frodo and Sam with confusion and relief. Frodo met his gaze, and smiled. 

“You did more than you thought, Man of Gondor.” Frodo said. “After all, it wasn’t coincidence that the Orcs thought Sam was a great Elven warrior when he rescued me from the Tower, was it?” 

The Man closed his eyes. A shimmer ran over his skin, and Aragorn sucked in a breath as a wraith appeared beside Talion. Arwen’s hand clenched on his; he heard soft sounds from the Elves around him. Frodo and Sam had gone pale, but Gimli, Merry, and Pippin looked confused. 

“Cousin.” Galadriel stepped forward. The Ring of Adamant glinted on her hand. “Allow me to make you known to all who stand here.” 

The wraith—Celebrimbor—inclined his head, and Galadriel lifted her hands and spoke a word. It hung in the air with a long, low note, then dissipated. Everyone blinked. Suddenly, even Gimli could see the Elven ghost that shimmered beside the White Tree. Amid the soft gasps and Gimli’s not-quite-stifled Khuzdul oath, Aragorn released Arwen’s hand and stepped forward. Talion’s gaze snapped to him. Aragorn watched those dark eyes widen as they took in his crown and the blossom still placed in his hair. 

“Talion, Captain of the Black Gate,” Aragorn said. He smiled. “Welcome home, Son of Gondor. Long have you fought for her, and long may she remember.” 

Talion wobbled, then fell to his knees and bowed his head. Aragorn winced and moved forward, kneeling in front of his long-lost Ranger. 

“No, Talion. Rise; you are among friends. I would speak with you face-to-face.” Aragorn grasped Talion’s hand—the poor man was blinking at him, a confused look on his face—and hauled his fellow Ranger to his feet. 

“Your—your Majesty, I—” Talion’s words ground to a halt. He swallowed, and cast his eyes downward. “I apologize for intruding. I—when I returned to Minas Tirith, I wished merely to ensure my eyes had not tricked me during the great battle at the Gate. I never even dreamed—” He stuttered to a halt. His eyes were darting from Aragorn to the Hobbits, with an occasional sweep across the rest of their company to land on Celebrimbor. The wraith had quietly removed himself to a corner of the parapet, where he was conversing with Galadriel, Elrond, and Gandalf. 

Galadriel had not raised her voice yet; that was a good omen for a rather peaceable reunion. 

Arwen—having greeted the wraith of her ancestor with a curtsy and graceful nod—swept forward and smiled at Talion. The Man looked stunned, and Aragorn could not blame him; most Men (and Women, for that matter) tended toward the same expression when faced with Arwen for the first time. 

“We understand, Captain.” Her voice was soothing, and Talion visibly relaxed. “Even for the Elves, the ascension of a new High King of Gondor was…astonishing. I am glad that Halbarad could convince you to meet with us in person.” 

“He was quite insistent—” 

“I am certain he was,” Aragorn said wryly. “Halbarad is not a Man one can say no to, not easily.” 

“No,” Talion agreed. He took a deep breath, cut his eyes toward the Hobbits, then back to Aragorn. Aragorn felt his brows lift, but he nodded. With a bow of his head, Talion moved toward Frodo and Sam. He lowered himself to one knee before them. 

“I wished to apologize.” He said haltingly, and lifted his hand when Frodo moved to protest. “I also wished to explain _why_ we could not reveal ourselves to you, Celebrimbor and I.” 

Aragorn moved forward, curiosity stirring in his breast. The story told to Halbarad had merely held the basics about Talion’s protection of the Hobbits. 

Frodo cocked his head, his clear eyes meeting Talion’s. “You do not need to explain yourself on our account, Captain, but if it will help you, if it will clear your mind, we will listen.” 

Talion took a deep breath. “Had we come close to you, had we interacted with you, Sauron would have known where you were in a moment.” He glanced to the side; Celebrimbor had returned, shimmering beside Talion in a silvery haze. “While Celebrimbor did not make the Ring itself, Sauron used its power to bind him to this world, and later, used his residual power to force him into a host.” 

“I defied him enough to choose my own host, rather than the one Sauron chose for me,” Celebrimbor’s voice was a deep rumble, with an accent reminiscent of Galadriel’s. 

Sam laughed; a rare sound now, and appreciated all the more. “That must have stuck in his craw!” 

“Oh, he hated it.” A smile flitted across Talion’s face. “But Sauron’s power allowed his Orcs, his Uruks, and his Men to see the wraith within me. Thus the rumors of the great Elven warrior who cannot die. And we soon discovered that Sauron could...sense where we were, though he could not pinpoint more than a general area. However, when you arrived in Mordor—” Talion ran a hand over his face. “We could sense the Ring. Its power kept Celebrimbor here, in this world, and we knew where it was. We realized what was happening as soon as we laid eyes upon you, but we dared not get too close, for fear that Sauron would find you through our presence. We kept within bowshot, when we could, but Sauron was feverish in his attempts to regain control of Celebrimbor. And so we could not contact you, nor follow you the entirety of your journey.” 

“We did what little we could, for we, more than most, know what it means to cross that place,” Celebrimbor said. His eyes were fixed on Frodo, who lifted his chin and met the wraith’s gaze. Aragorn chuckled to himself; the Hobbit’s courage was unfailing, even now. Celebrimbor seemed to see the same thing. A quicksilver smile flashed over the wraith’s somber features. With great ceremony, Celebrimbor bowed before the Hobbits, then moved back as Talion rose. 

“And what are your plans, now that you have seen your King?” Gandalf inquired from his perch. Aragorn sighed as Talion’s shoulders stiffened; damned nosy old man. 

“It is long past time for us to join our families,” Celebrimbor wavered in place. “I have wandered this realm, bound by the Ring’s power, for many centuries; I am ready to return to the Halls of Mandos.” 

“Yes. By all rights, I should have died when the Black Gate fell. Valar above, I _did_ die when the Gate fell,” Talion admitted. “When Celebrimbor leaves for the Halls, I shall finally find my rest.” 

“...you plan to leave.” Aragorn realized, and Talion nodded. 

“I had...plans, to find a quiet spot overlooking the City.” 

“Alone?” 

“Yes. This meeting—this was not meant to happen.” 

“My brothers and the Dunedain have a habit of disrupting carefully laid plans,” Arwen’s voice was wry. Aragorn could see the twins roll their eyes at their place by the door. 

“I would ask that you stay, Talion.” Aragorn spread his hands, gesturing to the Tree, and the City around them. “You have come home; I ask that you allow your home, your people, to sooth your way into the afterlife.” 

There was a hush, as Talion stared at him. Even the breeze died, as Aragorn waited for his Captain’s answer. He hoped—oh, how he hoped!—that Talion would stay. For this man, this brave Gondorian, to die alone on a lonely hill… 

Talion cleared his throat. 

“My king, what you ask—my death will not be kind.” Talion’s hands were trembling, Aragorn saw, until he clasped them behind his back. 

“Death is rarely kind.” Elrond observed, but Talion shook his head. Celebrimbor, growing more visible as twilight fell, watched his human partner with steady eyes. Talion closed his eyes, shuddered, and opened them to meet Aragorn’s gaze. 

“Majesty, my death was a ritual killing.” Talion said bluntly. There were soft sounds from behind Aragorn as the Elves realized what this meant, and Gimli huffed in surprise, but the Hobbits frowned in confusion. Talion crossed his arms over his chest. “The Black Hand himself slit my throat after killing my wife and child, this you know. We—when we faced the Black Hand in battle, Sauron attempted to draw Celebrimbor out of me. He succeeded, for a few moments, and my wound reopened. Dying from a cut throat—” 

“It might be relatively quick and quiet when used in stealth,” Aragorn continued softly as Talion faltered, “but a ritual killing…rituals would require the sacrifice to bleed as long as possible, and for the dying man, it is not peaceful.” 

“No.” Talion whispered. His right hand moved as if to touch his throat, but dropped back. He turned his head, staring out at the Pelennor Fields. “No, it is not. It is panic and pain and choking, and it means a mess at your feet, my king. It is better if we find a quiet, peaceful spot away from the White City. I would not sully this sacred place.” 

There was quiet for a moment. Aragorn did not wish to let Talion leave. The Man deserved so much more, and Celebrimbor should at least leave in the presence of family, where Galadriel could assist if need be. Yet Talion was correct about his death. It would not be kind, or easy, even after all these years. The Elves, he knew, could bear it. Gimli too; Dwarrow were ever pragmatic. But the Hobbits were still recovering, and Frodo in particular was still fragile. Should he allow Talion to leave? Should he ask the Hobbits to leave? 

The decision was taken from his hands when Frodo levered himself to his feet using Legolas’ knee as a support. Merry jumped up and took his cousin’s elbow; Merry and Pippin, after recovering from their own injuries, had been hovering over Frodo and Sam, ensuring the other Hobbits needed nothing. Aragorn smiled to see it, even as Frodo made his way, with Merry’s help, toward the watching Man and wraith. 

“You worry for others when you should think of yourself, Captain of the Black Gate.” Frodo said. His voice was soft, but clear. “Your task is finished. You need not protect us anymore. We have seen—” Frodo’s breath hitched. “We have seen much death and destruction since we set out from the Shire. We have seen friends fall, and we have been unable to sooth their way into the afterlife. We would… _I_ would consider it an honor to watch over you as you seek your final journey, just as you watched over us as we completed ours.” 

Frodo was firm and sincere. Sometimes Aragorn forgot that Frodo was related to—and raised by—Bilbo Baggins, but the silver tongue and quiet strength reminded him. 

Talion stared at the frail young Hobbit, his eyes torn between loneliness and fear. Before Aragorn could step forward, Celebrimbor wisped through Talion and into being in front of him, his gaze holding Talion’s. 

“Would you deny one of your men the chance to die amidst friends and allies, Talion? Would you reject them had they asked for your presence?”

“No—” Talion’s immediate reaction seemed to surprise himself, and his lips thinned in resignation. Aragorn could not help a small smile. Talion had fallen right into the Elven wraith’s trap, and he knew it. 

“Then allow yourself this chance,” Celebrimbor’s voice was blunt. When Talion bit his lip, the wraith’s countenance softened, and he put a ghostly hand on the Man’s shoulder. “Allow us _both_ this chance, Talion. Here, we may depart to our next life amongst friends and family. And, Talion... I count you as a dear friend, as kin. I know that, once I leave, you will die, and I cannot be there to ease your passing. It would comfort my spirit to know that someone will be with you at the end.” 

Talion bowed his head, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Very well, my friend.” He glanced up at the wraith with a wry smile. “Always have to be right and have the last word, don’t you?” 

Galadriel, to Aragorn’s surprise, gave an amused snort. “He always did. It drove the rest of the family absolutely mad. Myself included.” 

Celebrimbor actually rolled his eyes—looking a lot like the twins as he did so—and kept his attention on Talion. The Man gazed back; the air itself seemed to still around them, and Aragorn felt uncomfortable, as if they were intruding in a private conversation. Then Talion dipped his head in a shallow nod. Celebrimbor returned the gesture, and looked out past the walls. 

“Sunset. It is appropriate, I think.” 

“Yes.” Talion frowned. “I—are you certain about this, Majesty? There is yet time—” 

“I am certain.” Aragorn infused all the conviction he felt into his voice. The blossoms on the tree were closing, and the sky around them was turning pink and orange as the sun slid toward the horizon. “I would consider it an honor to be by your side, Talion of Gondor.”

“The honor is mine, my King.” Talion murmured. He cut his eyes at Celebrimbor, who looked at Galadriel in turn. 

“Cousin, I am unsure if the remnants of Sauron’s power will interfere, even with the Ring gone.” 

“I shall be vigilant, cousin.” Galadriel stood tall, her hands clasped before her. The Ring of Adamant glinted in the setting sun. “Valar speed you on your way. May you find your rest.” 

Celebrimbor nodded. A moment later, he and Talion were staring at each other again. They had fought together, connected at a level Aragorn could not imagine, for decades. To find their rest meant separation, after years of being closer than brothers, or even spouses. It made Aragorn’s heart hurt, and he sought out Arwen’s hand. She squeezed his fingers. 

“I will miss you, my friend.” Talion said softly. Celebrimbor’s smile made another swift appearance. 

“And I you, Talion. I never thought to find more than a host and a means to an end in you, when the Black Hand summoned me, but you have become more than even a friend; you are family, and I name you brother. You will be remembered amongst my kin in Valinor.”

Talion’s breath shuddered. Celebrimbor bowed his head and whispered in Talion’s ear, then straightened. The Man lifted his own head and squared his shoulders. The wraith glanced at the sun as it dipped below the horizon. 

“It is time. Valar bless you and bear you to your family, Talion of Gondor.” 

“Valar bless you and bear you swiftly to the Halls of Mandos, Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion.” 

Celebrimbor began to glow. A tether of wispy blue-white energy appeared, stretching between Talion and Celebrimbor. With a last glance between them, Celebrimbor lifted his hand, and the tether vanished. With a sudden breeze and a swirl of blossoms from the Tree, the wraith vanished. 

Aragorn leapt forward and caught Talion as his knees buckled. He lowered him to the ground, ignoring the blood that bubbled from the other Man’s throat and covered his hands and arms. When they reached the floor, Aragorn knelt, and placed Talion’s head in his lap. Talion’s eyes met his, filled with panic, fear, and exhaustion, the likes of which Aragorn had rarely seen. 

“My King!” Talion gasped, and blood ran from his mouth. He coughed, a deep wet cough. “My King, the blood—” 

“Allow me this, son of Gondor.” Aragorn said softly. “I would call you brother, and treat you as one. You are not alone here, Talion.” 

Another pair of hands moved into Aragorn’s vision, and Talion jerked in surprise as Frodo grasped the dying Man’s left hand. The Hobbit was pale, but determined. 

“No, Talion,” Frodo echoed. “You will not be alone. Not in this.” 

Whatever protest Talion would have made, it was drowned out as he struggled for breath. Even now he fought, this Man of Gondor, this soldier. Even with the promise of seeing his family again, even with the exhaustion dogging his steps, Talion’s body and mind rebelled against death. He had been fighting without pause for decades; it was as if he could not stop. For a moment, Aragorn saw the forest of Amon Hen and another Man, another Captain of Gondor, who fought against death’s encroachment. He blinked the image away, and bent over Talion’s straining body. 

“Rest, my brother.” Aragorn whispered. Talion shuddered in his grasp, and out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw Frodo’s hands tighten on Talion’s. A pair of boots entered his vision, and he glanced up to see Beregond in formal salute, his face pale and set. There was soft sniffling from the other Hobbits, and only respectful silence from the Elves and Dwarf, as they bore witness to Talion’s final moments. Aragorn turned back to the Man in his arms. 

The trembling had stopped. The blood was a mere trickle now. Talion met his gaze, and, slowly, Aragorn saw peace and acceptance rise to replace the panic and fear. Aragorn could feel tears slide down his cheeks even as he gave Talion a small, comforting smile. 

“Rest, Captain of the Black Gate. Your long watch is over.”

“My King.” Talion sighed. He smiled and closed his eyes. 

Aragorn pressed a gentle kiss to Talion’s forehead, a benediction, as Talion’s spirit finally fled his body.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end. I hope this gave you as much bittersweet closure as it did me.
> 
> I can't tell you all how much I appreciate your support as I agonized over this chapter. I had the beginning and the ending completed, but it took months for me to connect them in a way that made sense.
> 
> In fact, that final scene with Talion, Aragorn, and Frodo is what started this whole adventure. I had the ending written _long_ before I wrote the rest of it.
> 
> Thanks again for the support, guys! 
> 
> And thanks a billion to my marvelous beta [SvengoolieCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SvengoolieCat/pseuds/SvengoolieCat), who listened to me whine and read my bits and pieces as I attempted to puzzle them out, and kept me from freaking out as weeks turned to months and the story stayed unfinished. Couldn't have done it without you. :)


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